


That familiar smell of copper

by natcat5



Series: Dark Month 2014 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Injury, Stabbing, dark month 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natcat5/pseuds/natcat5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a long list of people in Beacon Hills who are aware of just how grossly unfair life can be, and Malia has to be near the top of the list. But even she can barely wrap her head around how, once again, she’s left staring while someone she cares about succumbs to injuries, leaving her behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That familiar smell of copper

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 of Dark Month 2014- Prompt: 3. Physical ailments (knife/bullet wounds; illness/fever)

**3\. Physical ailments (knife/bullet wounds; illness/fever)**

As a coyote, her thoughts tended to be very singular, circular. It was hard for her to think deeply. It was hard for her to think beyond the moment, to consider and ponder things. And in a way, it was better, in that state. Her guilt was present, and she knew what she had done, but she was unable to dwell on it for long. Unable to fester in it.

But she remembers, with clarity, returning to the wrecked car and seeing her mother and sister’s ravaged, broken bodies, and looking down at her own, blood in her fur, but cuts from broken glass already closing. She remembers seeing her own healing body, and verging on something close to despair.

Malia killed her family and then survived the car crash, because she can heal. She’s a monster who doesn’t deserve it, and she can heal.

She’s human now, and she’s getting better at dealing with the guilt. Better at dealing with the past. Making Scott happy by repeating affirmations that it wasn’t her fault, that she wasn’t in control, that she can’t blame herself.

But it’s easy to circle back to that mode of thinking. That incredulous disbelief that she, a murdering monster, can heal from almost any wound, and those much more deserving of life cannot.

Right now, with Stiles bleeding beneath her hands, it’s easy to circle back to that mode of thinking.

“It’s not that bad,” he pants out, hand pressed against the knife embedded in his side. “It’s- the bleeding, is what’s, dangerous, and it’s, as long as we don’t pull it out-,”

His face is drawn with pain, pale. The knife wasn’t the first injury he’s taken tonight, and one ankle is twisted, his left arm cradled against his chest, and blood trickling down from his hairline.

Malia feels like she’s close to hyperventilation, her hands hovering nervously in the air around him, afraid to touch, afraid to make it worse. He’s bleeding, and it’s not going to heal, not the way she heals. He’s bleeding, and he could die. Stiles has his own guilt that he deals with, but Malia doesn’t believe- doesn’t think it’s comparable. It’s one thing, for something to literally possess your body and do horrible things with it. It’s another for the thing ‘possessing’ you to be another part of yourself. She can’t treat the coyote part of her, the one that revels in meaningless violence, like it’s completely autonomous from her. Because it’s not. Stiles isn’t like her. Stiles doesn’t deserve to be bleeding, possibly to death, in front of her.

Because, fuck, Braeden once went on a lengthy explanation about how fickle stab wounds were and you could get stabbed twenty times and live as long as the weapon didn’t hit any essential organs or arteries, but you could get stabbed once in the money spot and die in a matter of minutes.

Stiles’s eyes are fluttering, he sounds like he’s having trouble breathing, and she’s scared that he’s wrong. That it’s not the bleeding. That it’s whatever the blade has hit inside him. That it’s the bleeding they can’t _see._

There’s a long list of people in Beacon Hills who are aware of just how grossly _unfair_ life can be, and Malia has to be near the top of the list. But even she can barely wrap her head around how, once again, she’s left staring while someone she cares about succumbs to injuries, leaving her behind. There’s dried blood all over her, from where she tried to protect him. From where she tried to stop this from happening. But the wounds, the cuts themselves, are-,  
She looks down, taking her eyes off of Stiles for the first time, brow furrowed.

There’s a wound, a deep gash on her abdomen, and it’s-it’s not healing. It’s wide open and gaping, blood dripping down her side.

And there’s another one, blood still oozing through the rips in her jeans. And another, the bruises on her forearm still sickly purple and green.

She’s not- she’s not _healing._

Malia stares down at her body in disbelief, a few long seconds passing. There’s a feeling of horror, a twisting in her stomach, a fear of the unknown. Of what could possibly be wrong with her. But then it’s replaced by a feeling of _relief._ She’s never deserved the healing power that her heritage affords her, and she feels a sick sort of pleasure, now that it seems to be taken away.

Stiles sucks in a rattling breath and reaches forward with his right hand, red with his own blood. He touches her arm, mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a few seconds.

“Stiles,” she says, and it surprises her, how her own voice breaks, how the pain of her open wounds are nothing compared to pain tearing through her chest.

“D-don’t,” he starts to say, eyes drooping, his tongue heavy in his mouth, “Don’t…do that, don’t- the guilt, if you, you won’t heal, Scott did that-, because he felt guilty but, don’t, you can’t, it’s n-not your fault-,”

His words die away with a groan, and his head lolls back, his chest heaving. A distressed, wounded sound tears itself from Malia’s throat and she scrambles closer, touching his face gently and placing her hand on the wound, where his has fallen away.

“I’ll start healing when you do,” she whispers hoarsely, pressing her forehead to his. “So heal from this, Stiles. _Please.”_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> weeee now I'm all caught up.   
> because it's not October 4th until I go to bed and wake up. and I haven't done that yet.


End file.
